


A Throuple of Things

by DangerFloof



Series: A Two Parent, Two Bottles of Wine a Night Job [7]
Category: Bob's Burgers (Cartoon)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Consensual Underage Sex, Drug Dealing, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Growing Up, Horny Teenagers, Mild Smut, Partying, Prom, Recreational Drug Use, Teen Romance, Teenage Rebellion, Teenagers, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-08-23 17:24:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20246545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DangerFloof/pseuds/DangerFloof
Summary: It’s prom season!  Louise has a taste of normal teenage life, and Zeke has to put up or shut up.Updated every Friday.





	1. ONE

Zeke examines himself closely in the mirror. Frowning, he leans in close with his grooming scissors, and snips a couple of hairs at the edge of his mustache. He runs a hand over his scruffy beard; perfect. He smiles at himself to work up more enthusiasm for his date, trying, as he has repeatedly this past week, to push aside the reason he finally asked Lana out in the first place.

He has to laugh at himself; he’s the only guy on the planet would need to work up enthusiasm to get drinks—sex is implied, of course—with a smoking-hot stripper like Lana. Zeke’s frequented her for months, knows the curves of her body, and genuinely likes her as a person. It should be an exciting evening, but Zeke feels like shit.

His phone buzzes, and he sees that it’s a video sent by Mrs. B in a group chat. His stomach sinks. _Ignore it. Ignore it…ignore it…ignore it…ah, fuck._

As if to punish himself, to wring maximum pain from an already painful situation, Zeke sits on his bed and watches the video.

* * * * *

“Is this thing on?” Linda Belcher’s voice calls out over a cacophony of voices. The camera is pointed down, recording an excellent view of the old but clean living room carpet and one of her canary-yellow sneakers.

“Oh my God! Mom, it’s just a phone, it’s not that hard.”

“Louise, be nice,” Bob warns her from somewhere out of shot.

Mrs. B finally swings the camera up and scans the room. Mr. Stieblitz, Mr. Pesto, and Jessica’s parents stand off to one side, smiling and snapping photos of the teens they’re sending off to prom. Gene, his dark hair spilling over his shoulders, talks to Jimmy Junior in the corner.

Zeke sighs. J-Ju. Their friendship cooled, though never quite froze, once they hit high school, where Jimmy Junior became a total theater geek, and Zeke delved deep into delinquency. They’ve kept in touch over the years, but neither cried over the loss of their Zeke-ends. Part of him feels sympathy for Jimmy; it must be awful to have to move back in with his dad, exchanging free restaurant work for room, board, and community college. The other part of him wants to reach through the phone and smack his former best friend upside the head and bellow, “I told ya so!” Zeke never lost faith in his friend’s talent, but, like Tina, he always thought formal training would be critical to Jimmy’s success. Part of him resents J-Ju, who proudly rejected his father’s offer of free college straight out of high school; his own father gave him the down-payment for his truck, and he's grateful, but the old man did little more than wish Zeke good luck in his studies.

Jessica and Rudy smile uncomfortably for the cameras. Jessica, Zeke decides, is cute, in a gingery sort of way. Her red bob surrounds her face in curls and waves. The strapless dress with the mermaid tail skirt fits her busty figure perfectly, the shimmering midnight blue shade making her pale, freckled shoulders glow. Rudy wraps an arm around her, flushed, sweating, waves of embarrassment wafting off of him. His fresh haircut makes his ears stick out awkwardly, and he looks like every other nerdy but nice guy with a pretty girlfriend on their way to prom; very young, very innocent, very eager. Very Americana; Norman Rockwell would have loved them.

Louise and the Pesto twins are another story. Zeke tightens his grip on his phone. _Fuck_, Ollie and Andy are probably the only two guys going to prom that night who can wear tuxes with flair. Zeke has to admit they look grown-up, even handsome, in an annoyingly clean-cut way. (Zeke knows that, no matter how hard he tries, he’ll always look like the redneck he is, regardless of the expense or type of clothes he wears.) Each boy has an arm around Louise.

Zeke doesn’t have a problem with her going to prom; it’s part of her job, he did the same when he was her age and had a hell of a good time there. He can even wrap his head around her taking a date. But why the _hell_ does she have to go with the fucking _Pesto_ twins? Andy is the least irritating of the two; peeping down at her shyly from under his bangs, he seems slightly dazed by his good fortune, as if he can’t quite believe he’s actually going out with _Louise Belcher_. Ollie is another story. Standing proudly, clearly the more confident twin, his thumb strokes the bare curve of Louise’s waist.

Zeke pauses the video to look at her, his heart raging with jealousy. She’s never looked so womanly, so sexy to him, and he’d give anything in the world to be with her now, to see all that beauty in person. The high, teased ponytail—the same way she wore her hair at the Christmas party, but professionally done this time—emphasizes her height. Her dark eyes are smoky with liner, and red gloss makes her full lips look as juicy and inviting as ripe cherries. The halter neck of her tomato-red dress brings attention to her beautiful posture, the sleekness of her sculpted shoulders and back, and a bit of gathering at the bodice gives the illusion of a bigger bust than she actually has. Two curved cutouts at the sides of her waist show slivers of smooth olive skin, simultaneously seductive yet oddly modest, and beg for a hell of a lot more than touching. The full skirt falls to her feet.

Maybe it’s for the best he’s not there. A primitive, cave-man urge surges through him, demanding that he drive down to Seymore’s Bay, beat the twins bloody, and abscond with his Amazon warrior. How dare they look at, much less touch, his radiant girl! Those two-pump chumps aren’t worthy of her warm smile, even less the casual touch of her long-fingered hands as she snakes her arms around them. Zeke glares at the corsages of white flowers on her wrists. She looks so happy! Not that he wants her to be sad—truly, he’s happy she’s happy—but he’d be happier still if he were the one putting that smile on her face.

Damn it, if his baby wanted a fancy night on the town, why didn’t she say so? It wouldn’t be easy to pull off, but he’d make it work. And he’d take her somewhere a hell of a lot nicer than Pie in the Sky; he damn near laughed out loud when she told him about it on the phone. Zeke was a bus boy there for a summer, and knows for a fact that the vast majority of their food is shipped in by a supplier; with the exception of grilling meat and roasting vegetables, the chefs do little actual cooking. Even the pies, though baked on site, come in frozen. As far as Zeke is concerned, the place is Denny’s with ambiance.

He hits play.

There’s a distant honking outside. “There’s your limo, kids,” Jessica’s mom says.

More jabber, telling them to have fun, complimenting their looks, as the five teens clatter down the stairs. The door closes, and the adults start gathering their things to leave. J-Ju, Mr. Stieblitz, and Jessica’s parents leave fairly quickly, calling out promises to share photos over their shoulders. Mr. Pesto, however, lingers behind.

Once the door closes behind the other parents, Mr. Pesto turns to Mr. B. “Bob—hey, Bob!”

“What, Jimmy?”

“Is Louise getting ready for her career on the main stage or what? _Zoom!_”

Mr. B turns as red as Louise’s dress. “Oh yeah? Well—your sons look like…”

“Yeah? They look like what? What’dya got, Bob?”

Linda steps forward. “Go home and shove a cannoli in your holey!”

Mr. Pesto is retreating down the stairs. “Already used that one Linda, you’re loosing your touch. Looking forward to seeing your daughter at The Oceanside Gentlemen’s Club, Bob!”

“Yeah? Well…you—you go home and crap your diaper, Baby Num-Num!” The retort is lame, and bounces off the door Mr. Pesto slammed behind him.

“Don’t worry Bobby, I’ll edit that part out before I send it,” Mrs. B says.

Zeke sighs; he agrees, Louise _does_ look a bit like a stripper, but not in the shitty, cheap way Mr. Pesto means it. No, she looks…exotic, expensive, like a belly dancer turned stripper. Not the type a guy like him can hire for a private show at the local club; Louise looks like the sort of high-class girl Zeke reckons only rock stars and Russian oligarchs can afford, and it’s killing him. He’s been privileged enough to dine on it all, that beauty and passion and wit and heat, and now he has to step back and let some other motherfuckers taste it. He told her repeatedly that he doesn't want her to feel held back by him—she should experience stuff, she _needs_ to do it, to grow up right. He assured Tina he wouldn’t stand in her way. He reminded himself over and over that it’s _good_ for her to be free. They were fine, noble words. But theory is not the same reality, supposition quite different from fact, and he remembers the way Ollie looked at her at the Christmas party, knows how to read the tension between the two of them now.

“Gotta put up or shut up,” he mutters to himself. He never thought doing the right thing would hurt this much.

Already people are responding, her Aunt Gayle in particular thrilled that Louise is wearing red “for luck.” _Damn, Mrs. B’s gonna wanna response, ain’t she?_ Frowning, he types, erases, re-reads, until he comes up with the perfect response:

**Zeke:** Dont worry Mrs b they lok at her crosseyed I’ll take care of them. ;-)

Pleased, he hits send. He sounds just like any other protective family friend, right? Mrs. B eats that kind of shit up, but of course the message is really for Louise.

A quick knock on his bedroom door makes Zeke jump.

“Hey man, you ready?”

“Yeah, come on in.” Zeke tucks his phone in his hip pocket and grabs his wallet and chain—embossed with his initials, Louise’s gift to him for his 22nd birthday two months ago—and settles everything into place.

The door opens. Tall and slim, with a Puerto Rican accent that’s as much of a panty-dropper as his own Southern drawl, Raul is Zeke’s roommate and best school friend. Zeke considers himself particularly lucky to have a friend like Raul, especially since they met thanks to a mutual desperation for a roommate. Securing accommodations was far harder than Zeke anticipated, and he was resigned to sleeping in his truck for a few nights when he spotted Raul's ad on the school's website.

Raul’s dark eyes twinkle with amusement at the sight of the chained wallet. He never thought he’d be bros with a redneck. His original roommate bailed on him, and he was frankly out of options when Zeke showed up with a big dumb grin and two duffle bags. Raul figured he could roll with it, so long as Zeke paid his share of the rent on time and didn’t blow the deposit by spitting tobacco juice all over the carpet or whatever the hell it is rednecks do. He didn’t expect to find a friend, much less one who always had a supply of the good shit.

“Damn, dude, smile—they’re two of the hottest strippers in town,” Raul says, noting Zeke’s strained expression.

Zeke makes a non-committal noise as he quickly puts away his grooming bag and straightens the rumpled blanket on his bed. Raul watches him with a smirk; Zeke is as fastidious a housekeeper as his mamá. He shakes his head slightly, making his dreads sweep over his shoulders.

“I’ll come back here with Mindy, you stay at their place with Lana. Unless you wanna bring her back here?”

“Nah, that’s fine,” Zeke says, relief evident in his voice. Raul gets it; Zeke never brings women back to their place. He once told Raul it made the women feel safer, more open to sex, if they did it on their territory, but Raul suspects Zeke finds their presence in his home too intrusive.

Zeke slips on his leather jacket. “I gotta shipment of Chong’s in. Sativa. Ya want any? My treat.”

Raul accepts; he’s a good customer, but he’s also smart enough to never say no to free weed. He pops two joints into his cigarette pack.

Zeke’s smile is broad and dazzling, but doesn't reach his eyes. “We shouldn’t keep the ladies waitin’.”


	2. TWO

Louise, somewhat squished in the booth between Andy and Ollie, glances out the window. Last time she was here she was a little girl playing “interpreter” for her sister, and ate so much pie she puked at the sight of Tina and Jimmy Jr. exchanging what she now knows was a chaste and awkward kiss. This trip is much nicer, mostly because she’s practically a grown woman and has two handsome guys fawning all over her.

Rudy leans forward, nearly dipping his sleeve in the remains of his dinner. “So, what’s the plan, Louise?”

Everyone turns to her. Louise draws out the moment, popping the last bite of steak in her mouth and chewing thoroughly before she answers, savoring both the attention and the best part of her meal.

“Okay guys,” she motions for them to all lean in for a huddle. She glances around to make sure they aren’t being overheard. Honestly, this isn’t the dream team, but Louise is confident she can make it work. Jessica is the best of the bunch, though Louise knows from experience she can be pushed just so far. Rudy is smart, albeit timid, and the twins are eager and somehow, in their own dim way, typically avoid getting caught.

“I have most of it on me,” Louise says, patting the deep pockets hidden in her slip. “I’ll pass some to Jess when we get there. She’ll pass some to you, Rudy, and I’ll give you two some, too. It’s not much, but I might be able to restock at the prom. It’s all candies.”

“_Might_ restock?” Jessica frowns.

“I gotta guy on the inside,” Louise waves her hand casually. She’s still not sure how that will work, but Mudflap assured her she’d have help.

“So,” Louise says, pushing on, “We’ll only have edibles at prom, but there’ll be plenty to smoke and even mini-bottles at the after party. Tell people to hang on until then.”

Andy furrows his brow. “Won’t we have to be careful at the after party?”

“It’s at the Sand Flea,” his brother reminds him. “You can do anything there, just don’t get caught!”

“I’m glad our parents agreed to it.” Jessica reaches for the dessert menu. “Wanna split a slice of apple with me, Rude?”

“Do they have gluten-free?”

“Of course.” Jessica and Louise exchange a look; Jessica and Rudy have been friends for years, and they’ve dated for nine months—they’re practically married, by high school dating standards. Like his girlfriend doesn’t know all his allergies by now!

“Dad ordered us to not come home until tomorrow morning,” Andy tells Louise.

Ollie nods. “I think he’s entertaining a lady friend tonight.”

“Well,” Louise smiles at Jessica, “Mine wouldn’t have agreed to it without your parents on our side.”

Louise is still astonished her parents are letting her stay out all night. But she campaigned hard—as always, reminding them of her good grades and work at the restaurant. After all, virtually the entire motel will be one big party; they’ll hardly spend any time at all in their rooms anyway. Then Mr. Stieblitz joined in, and Dr. Mom and Dr. Dad added to the chorus, assuring the Belchers that the kids agreed that the girls would share one room, the boys the other. Of course they were just repeating a balls-out lie. Their parents can delude themselves all they like, but there’s no way in hell Jessica and Rudy will miss a chance to have a room to themselves.

_“Our room has two double beds, Louise,” Andy assured her earlier in the week as he nipped at her ear. “You can have one to yourself.”_

_ The threesome were making out in janitor’s closet in the basement at lunch, as they did whenever they could. It was fun, and the boys respected her limits, though she could tell Ollie was straining to keep his hands off her breasts. Louise wasn’t sure which she enjoyed more; the stares and whispers as the three of them walked down the halls hand-in-hand-in hand, or the feel of two boys kissing and touching her at the same time. At first it was weird, and sometimes too much, other memories of unwanted, unwelcome, bruising hands overwhelmed her. But the boys were patient, and slowly the bad memories were being overwrote—or at least, they weren’t her default when two males touched her._

_ “Unless you want to share,” Ollie murmured as he nuzzled her throat. _

_ “I’d like that,” Andy agreed._

_ Louise wasn’t sold on the idea. She didn’t want to actually date-date Andy and Ollie, and for her, the whole friends with benefits thing has been an epic failure historically. Besides, what if they’re virgins? That sounded like an awful lot of work with little in return for her._

_ “Let’s put a pin in—oh!” Ollie’s lips found the sweet spot and he clamped down gently, making her entire body roll against his in pleasure._

* * * * *

“And send,” Linda mutters to herself as she forwards the video to twenty-five of her closest friends and family members. “Aw nuts, I forgot to edit out stupid Jimmy Pesto.”

“Uh, do you know how to edit videos?” Bob asks from his spot on the couch, where he’s idly flipping channels between two 80’s sitcoms.

“No, but it can’t be _that_ hard. It’s just click and erase, right?”

Gene reaches over and grabs a handful of popcorn. “That’s fine. If Mr. Pesto didn’t want everyone to know he’s a dick he would’ve acted better.”

“Gene…”

“Hashtag truth, Dad.”

“What did I tell you about saying ‘hashtag’?”

Gene shrugs. “Hashtag facts.”

“_Anyway_, I think she looks beautiful, and so grown-up,” Linda says in a tone that doesn’t allow for argument. “She picked out the dress, but I bought her the right accessories, and Gretchen did her hair.”

Father and son exchange a look.

“Well, the accessories make the woman,” Gene hedges tactfully. “How’d you get her into those chandelier earrings?”

“I bought them,” Linda laughs. “And the shoes! Would you believe she wanted to wear her black flats? She about gave me a heart attack! I told her, just because the dress is floor-length doesn’t mean everyone won’t see your feet! Who wants more Coke?”

Linda retreats to the kitchen to refill their glasses, while the men of the house have a hurried conference.

“You _can not_ tell your mother,” Bob hisses under his breath.

“I know! But I think it’s the earrings and ponytail that caps it.”

Bob pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. He and Linda have gone around more than once about the girls’ outfits, Tina’s usually because of the overt sexiness, Louise’s typically because she’s cheap and doesn’t like to replace things she’s outgrown. Linda tends to dismiss their more risqué choices as “fun,” leaving Bob to wish she’d listen to his Dad-sense. Sometimes men see things that women don’t, like the fact that yes, their baby _did_ leave the house looking like a belly-dancing stripper.

But a _happy_ belly-dancing stripper, he reminds himself. Louise seems to have turned some kind of corner in the past week; sure, she’s still touchy, and a day hasn’t gone by without sparks, but she hasn’t had a single blow-up. She’s _trying_ to control herself, at least. Best of all, she’s stopped treating her mother like an enemy. If letting Louise go to prom looking a touch tawdry is the price he has to pay for family peace, he’ll accept it gladly.

* * * * *

Louise feels an unexpected thrill of excitement shoot through her as the limo pulls up to the school. Unlike other schools in the area, like Kingshead Prep, Huxley High doesn’t hold their prom at a country club or someplace ritzy like that, but instead shoves them in the gym and calls it good. Still, for all her cynicism, Louise can’t help but to look forward to the dance. She looks hot and she knows it—she doesn’t get the stripper vibe, but even Louise can’t resist the opportunity to look like Princess Jasmine—she has two handsome guys as dates, and she’s going to make serious bank tonight.

Jessica and Rudy walk arm-in-arm, with Louise and the twins holding hands behind them. There’s a line at the door, where two teachers take tickets and give promgoers a once-over, to make sure everyone’s following the dress code and nobody’s trying to smuggle contraband. Louise feels the pockets of edibles bounce on her thighs as she walks. She sighs: _Where’s the trust?_

Finally, it’s Jessica and Rudy’s turn. Ms. Jacobson, wearing a silky pink number that pops against her mocha skin, takes their tickets, reminds Jessica to keep her bodice hiked up, and waves them on.

“Oh, it’s _you_,” says a fretful male voice at Louise’s side. She turns and groans. Mr. Frond, looking more trout-shouldered and pear-shaped than ever in an ill-fitting tux, appears about as thrilled to see her as she is to see him.

“What are _you_ doing here?” She demands without thinking.

“What do you think?”

“Well, you’re dressed like a waiter so I thought you were handing out hor d'oeuvres or something.”

“I’m _chaperoning_, Louise. They needed extra faculty and I thought, hey, it’ll be fun and bulk up my resume.”

“So you _won’t_ validate my parking…?”

Ms. Jacobson jumps in. “Tickets, kids.”

The threesome hand over their tickets. Ms. Jacobson waves them on, but Mr. Frond holds up a hand.

“Not so fast, Louise.” He eyes the bare skin at her waist. “School policy _specifically_ forbids two-piece dresses or cutouts more than three inches wide.”

“She’s fine, Phillip. Turn for him, Louise.”

Louise complies. The bodice is quite modest, and the back, though cut low, stops above her waist. Without a slit in the skirt, her legs are entirely hidden. Still, Mr. Frond eyes the cutouts at her waist.

“I think they’re too wide. Ms. Jacobson, if you’d…?”

Louise detects a slight eye-roll as the teacher takes out a tape measure. She leans over and measures the cutouts at the side seams, where they’re the widest, then measures the width of the distance between the tails. Louise holds her breath, hoping the candy wrappers under her skirt don’t rustle.

“They’re exactly 2.75 inches at their widest, and there’s three inches of fabric between the ends of the two cutouts. This dress is not a two-piece, and the cutouts comply with policy.”

“Humph. Well,” he sighs, “you made it by a quarter of an inch, so you’re _technically_ okay—“

“_Technically_ okay is the best kind of okay, am I right?” Louise shoots finger-guns at him. “Have a nice night, Mr. Frond!”

The threesome laugh on each others shoulders as they hurry past Mr. Frond before he can find something else to complain about.


	3. THREE

“Okay, this isn’t…terrible,” Louise concedes, looking around the gym.

The theme is Enchanted Forest, which Louise and Jessica earlier dismissed as lame and unoriginal, though neither offered up any ideas that the school could possibly accept, and both of them rejected invitations to be on the prom committee. Ivy-covered drapes hide the bleachers, and strategically placed cutouts of clouds and a full moon cover the basketball hoops. Large cutouts of trees and potted plants create the illusion of depth, and the entire place is lit with swags of hundreds of fairy lights. Mr. Ambrose and other teachers monitor the refreshment tables, a Pinterest-worthy model of carefully crafted rusticity. Off to the side, the cameraman is setting up his equipment near a flower-festooned arch.

“We’ll see you in a bit, boys. Louise has to…uh, we’ll be right back,” Jessica says, and the two of them make their way through the crowd to the girl’s bathroom, which, mercifully, is relatively empty.

They greet Harley, who monologues to them about how beautiful the decorations are as they duck into the handicap stall, ostensibly so Louise can help Jessica with her Spanx.

“…So we _rented_ the fairy lights though I said we could buy them in bulk from Walmart but then Mr. Frond—who thought he’d actually be here? Do you think he and Ms. Jacobson are really an item? Oh, and—“

Locked in the stall together, Louise lifts her skirt and liner to reveal the pockets Rudy sewed into her slip.

“Your boyfriend’s a wonder,” Louise whispers. The Woodchuck incident pretty much killed Rudy’s interest in shop, so he took home ec instead in eighth grade, where he discovered a talent for sewing. Louise, who can barely manage button replacement and re-stringing a hoodie, thought it was dumb at the time, but she’s since come to appreciate his talent.

Jessica waggles her brows. “I know.”

“Ugh.” Still, Louise is smiling as she reaches into the pockets and retrieves handfuls of colorfully wrapped candies. “Peppermints, cinnamon bombs, sour lemon, all 10 mg. Six bucks each, you keep a dollar of it.”

Jessica nods and dumps them in her clutch. She holds up a candy. “The wrappers are really convincing,” she murmurs. “If you didn’t know you wouldn’t know, you know?”

“I know.” Then, more loudly: “I think everything’s settled. If you’ll excuse me, I gotta…”

“Oh, sure.” Jessica leaves her alone, washes her hands and applies lotion as Harley-Ever-Shuts-Up natters on about the DJ’s fees, and leaves to meet up with Rudy.

Louise pees and waits until Harley wanders out to talk someone else’s ear off. She’s washing her hands when Millie bounces in.

“Oh, hi Louise! Funny seeing you here,” she cackles. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re wearing red? I could have worn red too!”

Short and plump, her puffy blonde hair styled in a 1950’s poodle cut like Lucille Ball’s, Millie actually looks quite nice in an off-shoulder, ice-blue tea-length dress. They’ve managed to attain something close to a normal friendship over the years, primarily because Millie transferred the majority of her rabid obsession to Dita Von Teese. Louise doesn’t mourn the loss of her very own stan, and the experience makes her question Gene’s thirst for fame.

“Mmm.” Louise accepts a dollop of hand cream from Millie. Her own purse holds only the necessities, mostly defined by Louise as edibles. “Who’s your date?”

“Hoagie of course, you silly billy. We’ve been dating for three whole months!”

“Oh yeah, right. It’s been three months already?” They’re one of Huxley’s odder couples, quiet, nerdy Hogarth Haber and loud, wild Millie Frock. But who knows, maybe opposites attract; after all, three months of dating is a long time when you’re sixteen.

“Mm-hum.” Millie pulls out a tube of lipstick and touches up her wide red mouth. She cuts Louise a sharp look, and makes a point of looking around the bathroom.

Louise recognizes the look and knows what’s coming next. She opens her purse, preparing to make her first sale of the night.

* * * * *

Almost two hours later, Louise, her two dates, and Jessica and Rudy clink plastic champagne flutes of sparkling punch.

“Mission accomplished!” Louise beams, pleased with her mules. The five of them sold all the stock she brought with her, and even allowing for her friends’ cut, she’s earned a week’s pay in one night. Add that to the extra dough she made leading up to prom, and surely she’s earned enough to cover books for the two college courses she’s taking next semester. At this rate, sales at the afterparty—_if_ her contact actually shows up and passes off the nips bottles and flower she’s been promised—will put a serious dent in her tuition, too.

“It’s so much fun being bad!” Jessica all but rubs her hands together.

Rudy, winded from dancing wildly with his girlfriend, takes a hit from his inhaler. “Sweet!”

Ollie puts an arm around Louise’s waist and draws her closer to him. He exchanges a look with his brother.

Louise raises her brows. “What?”

“Mr. Ambrose keeps staring at us,” Andy says, holding her hand.

“So?” She kisses Ollie on the cheek, then Andy. “We aren’t doing anything wrong.”

“Right now,” Jessica snickers.

Louise shugs. Teachers have given her and the twins some serious side-eye this week, and she suspects at least one called her parents, too. Since nobody’s caught the three of them doing anything more than holding hands or giving each other chaste pecks on the cheek, all they can do is be lamepons about it.

The lights in the gym dim slightly.

Jessica turns to Rudy. “Oh, a slow song’s coming up. Dance with me!”

“Okay.” He’s barely wheezing as he allows himself to be lead out on the dance floor.

Louise shakes her head as Andy retrieves the twin’s Turn Penny from his pocket. They’ve been doing this all night, flipping the coin to see who gets to do everything from getting her a glass of punch to holding her purse while she danced with a group of girls. The coin comes up heads.

“I get the next slow dance!” Andy reminds them as Ollie leads her off to the floor.

Ollie holds her closer than she expected. She wraps her arms around his shoulders and plays with the little hairs on the back of his neck the way he likes. They sway slowly to Ed Sheeran’s “Perfect”.

Ollie leans in close. “You’re so beautiful,” he breathes in her ear.

Louise shivers. “I know. We look good together, don’t we?”

A little flame leaps in his eyes, sparking something within her. “I bet we do a lot of things good together.”

Louise closes her eyes as his lips touch hers. He’s such a good kisser, his hands are so warm but respectful. In this moment, she’s not a dealer, she doesn’t have a twenty-something semi-boyfriend, she’s not up to her eyebrows with the local mob. Louise luxuriates in the pleasure of showing affection for a guy in public, the rare experience of just being a normal teenager doing things normal teenagers do. He nips her bottom lip, and Louise moans slightly as she opens her mouth, deepening the kiss.

A finger taps her shoulder firmly. They part, and Louise looks into the scowling face of Mr. Ambrose. “No babymaking on the dance floor, save that for later tonight.”

Pink-cheeked, Louise raises a brow at her partner. “Well damn, Ollie, I guess you can put that condom away.”

Ollie turns bright red and begins to nervously giggle into his hands.

The librarian takes her arm. “Let’s go, Belcher,” he says as he drags her off the floor.

Louise wrenches her arm out of his grip, but follows him. “Hey, hands off, pal.”

Mr. Ambrose rolls his eyes. “Oh, whatever, _Baby Belcher_,” he hisses.

She stares at him. “_You’re_ my--?”

They’re off to the side, away from others, and a casual observer would think he’s chewing her out. Mr. Frond casts Mr. Ambrose an approving look.

“Oh my, the curmudgeonly librarian is a secret drug dealer,” he stage whispers, giving a little jazz-hands with it. “My Fischoeder name is Marion.”

“_Marion_?”

“Yes, _Marion_. Like Marian the Librarian? From _The Music Man_? It’s also my real first name.”

Louise snorts.

“Hey,” he glowers, “John Wayne’s real first name was Marion.”

_God, no wonder he’s such an ass, his parents must have hated him from birth._ Louise shakes her head; she has business to attend to. “Okay then, uh, _Marion_, what’s the plan?”

“I have the goods in my car,” he hisses out of the corner of his mouth. “Which is your limo? Is Nat driving?”

“No,” she sighs. Louise wanted Nat—specifically requested her—but Nat was already assigned a bachlorette party. She does a double take, suddenly realizing what he implied. “Wait a minute, _Nat’s_—?”

“Well yeah, _duh_,” he snorts, rolling his eyes. “So, your limo…?”

She gives him the plate number and driver’s name.

“Okay. I’ll have everything in your limo and ready to go. Don’t mess this up, Baby B.”

Louise grits her teeth; she’s not a child, damn it! But she’s in such a good mood overall that she gains quick control over her temper, albeit with effort. As she’s reminded herself repeatedly this week, that’s what adults do, they don’t loose their shit over every little irritation. “I won’t, _Marion_.”

The slow song is over by this point, and the twins are waving her over to where they’re dancing in a group with Jessica, Rudy, and a few others. Andy takes her hand and draws her in.

“I get the next slow song with Louise,” he crows.

Ollie pouts slightly. “But I only got half of one with her.”

“Then we can split the one after that!”

“Guys, guys, don’t worry, there’s plenty of me to go around,” Louise laughs.

“I hope so,” Ollie murmurs in her ear.

* * * * *

Zeke pushes his way through the crowd with two longnecks in his hands. A local band is playing Led Zeppelin covers with more volume than talent, and the bar is hazy with smoke. He arrives at their table just in time to see Raul pocket the 9-ball. Mindy, with her long, honey-brown hair and chocolate colored eyes, is startlingly young looking and small without all the makeup and Pleaser heels. She applauds louder than anyone else. Raul catches her eye, and the heat between them is almost palpable.

Zeke hands a beer to Lana. She smiles in appreciation and takes a sip. Raul and Mindy are pretty buzzed by this point, and their hands are already wandering—Zeke’s willing to bet their Uber driver will have to hose out his car after dropping them off. He and Lana, however, are pacing themselves.

“You wanna go next?” he asks her. Zeke isn’t much of a pool player—he’s better at darts—but he’s a gentleman, and gentlemen entertain their dates. Besides, watching her bend that ass over the pool table would be a good way to repay him for putting his mediocre pool skills on public display.

She shakes her head, nods to their roommates. “I’m enjoying the show.”

They share a conspiratorial glance. Raul’s never been out with a stripper before, and, overwhelmed by his good fortune, he’s practically falling over himself to impress her. Mindy, barely twenty-one and new to her profession, is thrilled with the attention. Together, they’re charmingly naïve. It’s cute; tonight isn’t Zeke’s first rodeo, and he’s enjoying watching Raul learn the ropes.

“Kids today,” Lana grins.

Zeke laughs. He’s having more fun than he anticipated. It’s nice, being out with a mature, grown-up woman who can do mature, grown-up things. A couple of guys pass by and check her out, then shoot him a puzzled glance, clearly wondering what a guy like him did to get a sweet piece like her. He can’t help but puff up a bit at that one.

“I’ve never showed you my girl, have I?” she asks.

He shakes his head. She’s mentioned having a daughter a few times over the months they’ve known each other—at first it was a bid for bigger tips, but later he decided it was a test, to see if the fact that she’s a mom sent him screaming into the night. 

Lana reaches into her pocket and pulls out her phone. “This is Lindsey. She’s nine.”

He takes the phone and blinks. Lindsey’s much older than he thought, confirming his long-standing suspicion that Lana isn’t twenty-four, like she claims. Cute kid, rather like her mother, with medium brown skin and large brown eyes, her dark hair pulled back in pigtails.

His stomach drops. He’s managed to not think about Louise for most of the night, but faced with a child the same age she was when he first met her, and eerily similar in looks, is disturbing.

“She’s a cutie,” he says, handing Lana back the phone. “Nine, huh? How’s she doin’ in school?”

“Oh, she does alright,” Lana says evasively, which tells him all he needs to know. “She’s a really good dancer. She’s in tap and jazz, and I just signed her up for a little miss pole class.”

“Pole dancin’? Didn’t know they offered that to kids.” He tries to keep the judgment out of his voice, but _goddamn_, who signs a kid up to learn to work the pole?

“It’s just for the exercise,” Lana says with a creep of defensiveness in her voice. “It’s really athletic.”

“I know.” He flashes her his most charming smile, consciously thickening his accent. “I just ain’t heard of a class fer kids before. You _know_ I ain’t gotta problem with pole dancin’, sugar.”

Lana relaxes. “I know. You’re one of the few guys who treats us like people, not trophies.”

“Never,” he says, and means it, for the most part. Zeke genuinely likes women, not just as parts, but as people, and he’s known too many strippers—in both the general and the Biblical sense—to make them some sort of exception to the rule. His feminism may not be perfect, but he doesn’t have a Madonna/Whore complex, either. He holds out his hand. “Wanna dance?”

“Sure,” she says, and he leads her out to the dance floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to post a couple of hours early. Enjoy!


	4. FOUR

Standing next to the kingsized bed Jessica and Rudy will later defile, Louise adjusts the ren faire pouch she always straps to her waist at parties. It’s heavy with mini bottles of vodka and whiskey. She threw away the flannel she wore _that night_, replacing it with a brand-new one, and the breast pockets bulge with candies. She ties the tails at her waist, hoping to give herself a bit of shape, planning to open the shirt later to show off the lace bodysuit underneath. Cargo pants—ugly, but practical—provide lots of space for baggies of flower and pre-rolls.

Jessica raises her brows as Louise opens a box of condoms and stuffs half into her back pocket. She tosses the rest on the bed.

“Take ‘em. A buck a fuck,” Louise grins.

Jessica sighs and makes room in the cross-body bag she brought with her. Louise knows she’s pushing her luck, but hey, she isn’t giving her mules much, and if they make her an extra twenty, she’ll call it good.

At least three different sound systems are thumping music throughout the motel complex, which has been completely taken over by promgoers. Already Louise can smell traces of weed and beer, and whoever is next door is practically howling with pleasure.

Jessica holds up the streamer of condoms. “Yeah, speaking of which, are you three gonna…?”

Louise frowns at herself in the mirror. She doesn’t pay much mind to her looks as a rule, but it’s not easy, going from Princess Jasmine to Kurt Cobain in under 15 minutes. She shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe?”

“Wow. Are you going to make them take turns or just let them spit-roast you?”

“Ugh, Jess, come on!”

“Hey, it’s a legit question, and you’d better figure it out soon.”

“I mean, they’re kinda hot, aren’t they?” Louise picks at a button on her shirt. “And they’re really good kissers.”

“And they’re here, and you don’t have to hide them, and they aren’t twenty-thousand years old, and—“

“He’s only twenty-two,” Louise glowers at her friend.

“Damn, seriously? I mean, I know you’re stuck on You-Know-Who, but—I didn’t realize he’s so _old_. Isn’t it…_weird_?”

Louise hasn’t thought much about Zeke this evening. She hasn’t really had time; as surprisingly fun as prom night has been, it’s still a work event for her, and she’s had to be vigilant. But now she does have time, and she’s hit with a crushing wave of _want_; she wants him to be here, with her, dancing, selling, horsing around. He told her he’s going out with friends tonight, his tone guarded, the details fuzzy, and Louise is smart enough to know what _that_ means.

“I think it’s weird that people care that damn much,” she snaps.

Jess, to her credit, stands her ground. “Hey, I’m on your side, remember? I just think it’s _weird_.”

_No, you think it’s gross and sick._ Louise chews her lip, biting back all the shitty things she wants to say, because, she reminds herself again, that’s what adults do; they de-escalate where they can. “Well, _if_ you’re on my side, try to trust me, okay?”

“I got your back. I just think—well, maybe we should agree to disagree on this one.”

Louise shrugs. “Fine.” She offers her friend a crooked smile, aware that Jessica is biting back plenty, too. “You don’t have to be wrong for me to be right.”

Jessica barks a short laugh, and the tension in the room lowers. “Whatever, doofus.” She picks up the string of condoms and wraps it around her neck like a scarf. “Let’s go sell safe sex!”

* * * * *

Prom was only for juniors and seniors, but it seems that Huxley High’s entire student body is crammed into the Sand Flea, most of them clustered around the small outdoor pool. Louise and Jessica make it there just in time to see Chloe Barbash and Anita Vasquez, play-fighting as always, push each other into the pool with a mighty splash, dousing everyone nearby with cold water. Louise and Jess exchange a look; when will those two just admit they like-like each other already?

Jessica waves vigorously at someone behind Louise. Rudy and the Pesto twins, also changed into their everyday clothes, come running up. Ollie holds two bottles of champagne, Andy an opener, and Rudy passes out Solo cups.

“Even you, Louise,” Rudy insists, shoving a cup into her hand.

“Well…okay. Fine. Just a little.” Louise won’t admit it out loud, but she likes champagne. It’s the least cool alcoholic drink ever—why couldn’t she like something hardcore, like vodka, or whiskey—but she likes the sweetness, the bubbles.

Ollie struggles with the cork, and Louise can’t look away from the rippling of the muscles in his forearms. The bottle opens with a pop, spraying them all with champagne. Everyone laughs and takes some.

“To friendship!” Rudy calls out, holding his cup high.

The five friends clink cups and drink deeply.

Louise passes out products to the guys. “It shouldn’t take too long,” she says, looking around the party with a practiced eye. At first she thought Mr. Ambrose stiffed her, but, looking around, she sees that lots of people have arrived well stocked; her sales will be mostly to revelers who didn’t plan ahead.

She turns to the Pestos. “Let’s meet back here in, say, an hour, see how we’re doing then, okay?”

Rudy and Jessica wander off—Louise doubts she’ll see much of them until tomorrow. The twins exchange a glance, and Ollie heads over to watch a few band geeks, already drunk, try to gather a group to play strip poker in one of their rooms. Louise and Andy are now alone.

Andy smiles at her uncertainly and takes her hand. “Can we talk, Louise? Privately?”

“Uh, sure,” she says, motioning for him to pass her the fresh bottle of champagne.

He leads her off by some shrubs. Andy opens his mouth to speak, but suspicious moaning erupts from behind the foliage. Blushing, they hold hands as they make their way over to a tree. They can’t see each other’s faces properly in the shadows.

“Spill it, Andy,” she smiles at him, taking a swig from the bottle.

He takes a breath. “I just want you to know, I think you’re beautiful and you’re my best girl _friend_ ever,” he begins.

“But?” Louise isn’t sure what’s coming next, and just wants to get it out of the way.

“And you’re so sexy, and I like to kiss you,” he adds with a smile. “But I…I haven’t done _it_ before.”

There’s a pause as he works to find his words.

“I like kissing you too,” she says truthfully, to fill the awkward silence.

“I want...” he can’t look at her, and Louise is certain Andy’s blushing in the dark, too. “I want my first time to be with my _girlfriend_.”

Louise’s stomach swoops. She shakes her head. “Oh. Oh, no! Oh, Andy, I—“

He begins shifting from foot to foot, wringing his hands. “I just don’t want you to be mad at me ‘cause I don’t wanna.”

She can sense the pleading look, and puts it together. “You mean, you _don’t_ want to sleep with me?”

Andy’s body sags with relief. “Yeah! I love you bunches, but not like that. You aren’t upset? I know we’ve kissed a lot and—“

Louise is weak-kneed with relief. “And it’s been great,” she smiles, in a mood to be generous. “I’m not mad. I get it.”

“I’m so glad!”

“I’m not a monster, Andy,” she smiles. It’s kind of sweet, the way he wants to wait for love; could he be any cuter? Louise’s heart melts a little, the way it does when she secretly watches YouTube videos of puppies. “We don’t have to do it. It’s okay.”

He takes her face in his hands and kisses her lips. “You’re amazing, Louise.”

* * * * *

Careful not to wake Lana, Zeke reaches out slowly and checks the phone he left on her nightstand. It’s not quite four in the morning: _fuck_. He can’t arrive home until at least eight or nine, and he really should buy her breakfast before he goes, too.

Zeke’s never felt this conflicted about sex in his life. On one hand, his body is singing hallelujah. After all, it’s been a month since he’s got laid, and man can live on masturbation alone for just so long. Lana proved to be a generous lover, as eager to please as to be pleased, and talented to boot; he’ll have to figure out how to suggest that tongue thing to Louise without letting on how he came up with the idea.

_Louise…_

He sighs quietly. His body is thrilled, but his heart aches. For the first time in his life he understands what people mean when they say that sex with someone you love makes strange tail feel empty and mechanical. He couldn’t run his fingers through Lana’s hair without remembering that he can do the same to Louise and not feel the telltale beads of extensions. He couldn’t fondle Lana’s big, beautiful breasts without remembering that Louise’s, though small, are God-given, not purchased, and cute, in their own little way. Ultimately, Zeke couldn’t truly enjoy Lana for the simple reason that she’s not Louise, and he strongly suspects that, had he not been so horny, so desperate to forget what drove him to Lana in the first place, he wouldn’t have been able to perform at all.

He glances over at her, sleeping contentedly on the pillow next to his, and feels double-shitty, longing for another women while in her bed, her scent still clinging to his beard. Especially since, before Louise, Lana would have been just his type. Hell, this time last year he’d probably be grinning like a fool, plotting ways to make her unequivocally his. Short and curvy, significantly older than him—she’s thirty-one, he checked her license while she was in the bathroom—and also from a dysfunctional family, she’s exactly what he used to gravitate to. He respects her hustle as a stripper, knowing that it’s not an easy profession, and he isn’t put off by her kid, either.

_It ain’t you, it’s me, _he thinks wryly_. _There just isn’t room for gals like Lana in his life anymore. After all, he’s 22 now, an age where a man should start thinking seriously about his future. Up until tonight, his plan was simple: finish school, open his restaurant, find a gal and marry her, have at least two kids, and build a stable homelife for his family. He never considered the details, how all that would work. He realizes now that he needs a gal from a stable background, one who has first-hand experience with the type of family he’s always longed for but only observed from a distance. He needs someone to help guide him, correct him, yet is still wild enough to not be put off by his work for the Fischoeder family. (A tall order, he knows.) A gal from a chaotic home who sends her daughter to little miss pole classes just ain’t gonna cut it.

Actually, he doesn’t want stepchildren either. He feels like an asshole admitting that, even to himself, but it’s the truth. It has nothing to do with the time or money he’d spend on the kid, but everything to do with his experience as a stepchild. He’d finally get used to one stepmom (or his father’s newest live-in girlfriend, close enough) and her brood, the rhythm and flow of their blended family, when the adults would break up and the whole cycle would start all over again. Zeke doesn’t want that for his kids. No, he will marry just once, to the love of his life, and they’ll never divorce. All his children will have the same parents, they won’t have to split holidays or deal with the crapshoot of new semi-siblings.

Now he feels _triple_-shitty, because he knows damn well he should have figured all this out before he fucked Lana, whom he’s sure thinks last night means more than it actually did. Well, he can’t help that now. He’ll take her to Waffle House as a nice goodbye, the good one on the other side of town, and hopefully she’ll get the hint on her own without forcing him to spell it out for her.

* * * * *

“Louise! Lou-_eeeeese_!”

Sighing, Louise glances over at Millie, and begins snickering. The other girl looks like her 1950’s doppelganger. Millie’s wearing pedal-pushers the same shade of khaki as Louise’s cargo pants, an eerily similar belt and pouch, and a vintage-inspired western shirt the same plaid as Louise’s. Louise salutes Millie with her almost-empty bottle of champagne, turns, and sees her target.

“There you are!”

It took a while, but Louise finally finds the twins at one of the kegs, Ollie and another football player holding Andy’s legs while he drinks upside down.

“…Three…four…five…six…seven….!” The surrounding crowd counts.

Andy kicks his left leg three times, clearly signaling to get down. The guys help him swing back to his feet. Gasping, he pumps the air with his fist.

“That’s two more than you, Ollie!”

“My hands slipped!”

Louise laughs and the ground tilts a bit as she kisses Andy’s wet mouth. “Good job, goofy!”

Ollie pouts. “You didn’t kiss me.”

She surprises herself by batting her eyes at him. “Well, your hands slipped.”

Ollie flicks a glance over at his brother. Andy smiles at them both as Ollie leads her over to the dancing. Leaning in close, so he can be heard over the boom of the bass, he grips her hips and says, “I have slippery hands, they go everywhere.”

Ollie is tipsy and she’s floating on a gentle sea of champagne, and tomorrow she’ll be mortified that they’re blatantly grinding in front of the whole school, their hands roaming freely over each other’s bodies. Their eyes locked, she takes his big hands in hers and guides them to her breasts. He groans as he squeezes them through her lace bodysuit and bralette.

“Oops, they slipped again,” he snickers.

She’s all but panting. Right now, tonight, Louise Belcher is young and single, a hot guy is offering himself to her on a platter, and her blood runs hot. “Let’s go back to the room and see what else is slippery,” she says.


	5. FIVE

Someone shakes Louise’s shoulder. She cracks open one eye, suddenly aware that she’s in a strange room, her head pillowed on a chest that’s too narrow and not hairy enough to be Zeke’s, and she has the beginnings of a headache thumping in her temples.

She sits abruptly, clutching the covers to her chest—her _naked_ chest, she’s totally naked, she realizes—and the room sways with the sudden movement. Panicked, she looks down and sees Ollie’s confused face peering up at her, illuminated by the lamp on the nightstand.

“Oh,” she says, both relieved and embarrassed as bits of memories flash in her mind’s eye.

“It’s almost five o’clock.” Ollie sits up and slowly stretches his arms over his head. “Andy’ll be here soon.”

Louise doesn’t bother to ask how he knows that. She licks her lips with a dry tongue. “God, I’m thirsty.”

“Me too,” Ollie says. “There’s bottled water on the bathroom counter.”

Louise pleads with her eyes. Groaning slightly, Ollie scoots to the edge of the bed and stands up. Louise turns her eyes away from him, her cheeks stained pink—he’s just as nude as she is. He uses the toilet, washes his hands, and returns from the bathroom with the water.

Louise took those few minutes to find her panties and flannel. She’s not sure where the rest of her clothes are at the moment—she remembers flinging them about wildly, the two of them all but literally tearing each other’s clothes off.

Ollie sits down next to her. He’s wearing underwear (his own, she hopes; the twins are pretty open about still sharing underwear) and nothing else. He passes her a bottle of aspirin. Louise takes only two, resisting the urge to down them all. She hands him back the bottle. He sets it aside and takes her hand in his, playing with her long fingers.

_Just like Zeke does_, she thinks, her heart twisting a little.

“I had a good time.” Ollie’s voice is soft and shy. He can’t look up at her.

Louise smiles. She remembers now that they did it twice. The first time, fearful that, being a virgin and a little drunk, he’d lack finesse and just jackhammer her—he’s not as thick as Zeke, but he’s longer, and it would hurt—so Louise mounted Ollie, who barely lasted long enough for her to have a short and perfunctory orgasm. The second time he wasn’t overwhelmed as quickly, and he insisted on missionary. It was nice.

“I had a good time too.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Ollie’s face is radiant with happiness, and Louise realizes that it was truly important to him that he pleased her. Well, it wasn’t magical or anything, but she doesn’t regret it. 

“Are you…are you and Zeke still a thing?”

She almost laughs; does Ollie think she’s going to ditch Zeke now that the two of _them_ did it? God, what’s _with_ men and the power they ascribe to their dicks, as if a nice night—just sex, nothing more—could overwrite the longstanding bond she shares with the man who, however improbably, burned his name onto her heart?

“Yeah, we are.”

“Oh.” Ollie deflates slightly. A beat, then he looks up at her, a small smile teasing the corners of his lips. “Well, if you change your mind, you know where I live.”

Louise takes his hand and lifts it to her lips. Kisses it. “You’re something special, Ollie. Thank you for letting me be your first.”

Stunned by her unusual gentleness and generosity, Ollie blinks at her, his smile broadening.

Louise stands up and begins searching for her clothes. The bodysuit, she discovers, is a lost cause; apparently at least one garment was, in fact, _literally_ torn off of her. She finds her bralette under Ollie’s jeans, her cargo pants in a heap at the end of the bed.

She’s now had three lovers; Louise isn’t sure why the increase in numbers is important to her, but it gives her a broader basis for comparison. Louise has no desire to make this anything more than a one-night-only performance. Aside from his inexperience, which would be easy (and fun) to overcome, and even ignoring for the moment Ollie’s apparent little crush on her, it was just sex. Nice—she keeps circling back to that word—and physically fulfilling enough, but she feels curiously incomplete, like something’s missing.

Oh, God. Oh, gross. Sex with someone you love really _is_ better in every way. _Sick!_

There’s a knock on the door. “Are you two awake?” Andy stage whispers loudly.

“No!” Louise calls out.

Ollie, now also dressed, walks over and opens the door. Andy bounces in, hollow-eyed from too much partying followed by a cat-nap on a lounge out by the pool. He’s holding a carafe of coffee and a box of bagels.

“Einstein’s just opened, I got first pick!” He calls out cheerfully, setting everything down on the tiny table by the door.

“Coffee, yes!” Louise is suddenly, ravenously hungry, and convinced that coffee and a bagel—hopefully he got pumpernickel, and smoked salmon shmear—are just what she needs.

She catches the twins doing that weird, silent communication thing they do. Ollie ends their conversation with a slight shrug. Andy sighs and offers his brother a sympathetic smile.

The three of them laugh and eat together, and part later that morning as the best of friends with hugs and cheek-kisses. There’s no more cuddling, no more necking; it’s tacitly understood that part of their relationship is over. A part of Louise is secretly wistful for what could have been, though she knows that, being the person she is, the choices she’s made, it couldn’t have ended any other way. Maybe, in a different universe, an alternate Louise would have made a different choice, but this Louise, aspiring member of the local mob, deeply and uncompromisingly in love with Zeke, can only wave good-bye to what might have been and move forward.

* * * * *

Zeke, slowly laboring through some homework in the living room, pauses to smile, sniffing the air appreciatively. Raul is baking two pans of _dulce de coco_—one for home, one to bring to Mindy tomorrow morning—and the whole apartment smells like coconut and sugar. Prior to meeting Raul, Zeke knew virtually nothing about Puerto Rico, and even less about the little island’s African roots and culture. Raul, proudly Afro-Latino, has introduced him to many delicious foods from his community; Zeke can’t wait to make _mofongo_ with shrimp for Louise some time this summer. He can hear Raul in his bedroom, talking on the phone with Mindy. He thought they’d like each other, but those two are getting on like a house on fire. They parted only a few hours ago, and already they’re draining their phone batteries. Zeke’s glad; Mindy’s a good kid—only a year younger than he is biologically, but years younger in experience—and frankly, too tenderhearted for her current line of work, in his opinion. Raul, for all his playboy bravado, is obviously a one-woman sort of man when it comes right down to it.

_Like me_, Zeke sighs. He realized at the Waffle House this morning, while downing his steak ‘n eggs and cheese grits, that it’s time he faced facts; he’s a really a monogamist. Random, awkward, post-sex breakfasts are no longer exciting or even interesting to him. Lana chirped on happily like a bird in spring, apparently oblivious to the fact that he was mentally counting down the minutes until he could drop her back at her place and retreat to his own apartment. His heart has advanced years ahead of plan, and it’s settled on someone who isn’t even technically a woman yet. He can’t help it—he’s sure as hell not proud of it—but he’s too realistic to ignore the fact that his heart entirely belongs to Louise Belcher.

His phone rings, and he startles, hoping Lana isn’t following up her afternoon text with a phone call. Thank God, it’s Louise; somehow it makes sense that she’d feel him thinking about her, and call to see what’s up.

“Hey, babygirl,” he drawls. “How’s prom?"

* * * * *

Louise, sitting on her bed with a fan and radio running to protect herself against eavesdroppers, smiles a little. “Oh, it was alright,” she says in a carefully airy voice. “The dance was pretty lame, but I think The Boss will be happy with my work.”

Truth to tell, Louise is _thrilled_ with her success, and plans to ask for more product. She’s sure she can push business further; she’s not entirely sure how she’ll hide the extra weed—she’s pretty much pushed her hidy-holes to capacity already—but that’s a detail to iron out later.

“Mmm,” Zeke hums, knowing that she can’t risk going into details on the phone. This is as good an opening as any for him to tell her his news, that he accepted an offer to be Acting Kitchen Lead this summer while Ginny is out on maternity leave, but he hasn’t worked up the courage yet. It’s an excellent opportunity for him, a great resume builder and pays well—he couldn’t say no. He knows how badly Louise will take the news, even though he insisted on taking Monday and Tuesday as his weekend, confident her parent’s restaurant is slow enough on those days that she’ll be able to do the same. “How’s yer momma n’ them? She sent everyone that video. Ya sure looked pretty.”

“Yeah, whatever. I know.”

“Them boys were respectful, right?” Zeke can’t keep the hard edge out of his voice, remembering Ollie’s thumb stroking her waist.

“Uh, yeah.” Louise narrows her eyes at the phone, sensing the subtext, _daring_ him to be a hypocrite and say something. “We got along _just fine_. Very well, actually.”

Zeke isn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he knows people; he likes to think that, if he had Louise’s brains, he’d become a shrink. He knows _exactly_ what she’s saying. He wants to puke and punch stuff, and not necessarily in that order.

“Well, that’s good,” he says in a false, hearty tone. “I had a good time too. Went to the bar with friends. Had some beers, played pool.”

“Um.” It’s Louise’s turn to feel the urge to break things. “Great. Just great. We both had nice evenings.”

Jealousy and rage pump through his veins. He’s told her a million times that he won’t hold her to anything, that she’s free, she should go out and experience stuff, and he meant it all, but part of him hoped that she’d use that freedom to choose to save herself just for him. It’s dumb, and shitty, and misogynistic, and hypocritical…and he can’t help it, it’s how he feels.

“I’m glad, that’s great.”

“Yeah. _Great_.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence.

Zeke takes a breath; _might as well acknowledge the elephant in the room_. “Look honey, I meant what I said. Ya know, about you bein' free to experience stuff. I still mean it. It just…it just ain’t easy. Ya don’t know how hard it is fer me.”

“Yeah, I do.” Each of her words is an icicle. “I know you go out and ‘experience stuff’ too.”

His stomach drops. They’ve never discussed their outside partners, and somewhere along the line, Zeke convinced himself that, since he didn’t tell her anything about the other women, she didn’t know they exist. Damn, that was stupid of him; Louise, cynical, suspicious, and whip-smart doesn’t need any help cottoning on to the obvious.

“I used to,” he admits. “I don’t anymore.”

“_Really?_”

“Really.”

Louise picks at a thread on her blanket. “I thought we weren’t exclusive when you’re out of town?”

“We ain’t,” he says. “I _could_, I just don’t _wanna_.”

And he means it. Sure, other women are nice, and sexy, and _damn_, he’s gonna spend a lot of time jackin’ it, but this is the final straw; he’s tired of meaningless encounters, and if they hurt Louise, then they’re not just meaningless, they’re damaging.

“Huh,” Triumph courses through her. “So, you want to be exclusive then?”

“I still think _you_ should be free to experience stuff, I’m just sayin’ I don’t want nobody but you, Louise.”

“Oh.” She blinks rapidly; she must have a bit of dust or something in her eyes. It’s on the tip of her tongue to tell him how she feels, that she wants nobody but him, but she can’t quite say the words.

“When are you coming home, then?”

“I ain’t gotta date yet, but I’ll be home in a few weeks.”

“Great. When?”

“I told ya, I don’t know yet.”

“Well, I need to know,” Louise demands, surprising herself as much as him with the slight whine.

Something within him loosens, and Zeke’s urge to curb-stomp someone drops a few notches. “I know, baby. Nothin’s right without you.”

“Yeah,” Louise sighs, and the tension between them reduces. “Next time we talk, you’re gonna have a date, right?”

“Right.” He’s already mentally tallying the positives of him working up north and seeing each other on their weekends. “I got some stuff to work out with my bosses here, but next time we talk, I’ll have a hard date.”

Louise cackles with laughter.

“What’s so—_ooooooh_!” Zeke shakes his head, chuckling. “This summer, we’ll have lots of hard dates, honey.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

They talk a few minutes more, and hang up feeling somewhat better. It will take a while before Zeke can think of the Pesto twins without growling, but his more optimistic side eventually wins. Louise slept with Ollie at least, he knows that, possibly Andy too, but still wants _him_, misses _him_! All Zeke has to do now is up his game, to prove to her that he is the only man in the world who can make her thoroughly happy. _Challenge accepted!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Everyone, 
> 
> Sorry this is up late. I was beaten by the Migraine Fairy, and she won.
> 
> At any rate, thanks for reading, commenting, and so on. Next installment will be up within a month.
> 
> DangerFloof


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